


The Diary of David Karofsky

by goetterdamerung



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goetterdamerung/pseuds/goetterdamerung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David's life in his own words</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Monday 18th June 2011.

My name is David Karofsky, I play hockey and football and my best friend is Azimo Adams. That is what almost everyone thinks they know about me, all that I am, the sum of the parts etc. etc.

They’re wrong.

Only one thing written above is actually true, well two if you want to be pedantic; but none the less. I play hockey and I play football, but Azimo is not my best friend… I’m not really sure if he ever was.

Maybe I’d be better off starting again, it may help clear some confusion.

My name is David Karofsky, I am a coward, I am a bully and I am a freak… a gay freak.

Huh, you know… that’s the first time I’ve said it, you know me being gay. Yeah, I know, laugh it up… the Big D is nothing more than a cock sucking, boy loving freak… mind you, it sure puts a different spin on ‘fists of fury’.

Shit, I’ve really got to stop watching porn before I write this shit down, my shrink will have my nuts; still, he’s the one that won’t let me erase or change anything I write down in the diary. Fuck, how girly can I get, writing in a diary, Hummel would have a field day… or ask to decorate the cover.

Yeah, Hummel; even now he is the bane of my existence, as well as the reason I keep on getting up each morning. Shit, there goes the flowery speech. Well you know something? So what, I’m a fag, a shirt lifter, a butt pirate, a cock sucker… you name it. (Well in theory anyway).

Yup, another bolt of lightning for you, I have imagined everything possible that two (or more) guys could do together, both giving and receiving, and yet all I have managed is one fucking kiss. See the aforementioned bane for details… I don’t have the heart to relive it all again just yet.

Right, back to the shrink and my ‘homework’, I’m supposed to sit here each day for the next week and do a stream of consciousness writing exercise for an hour, just let my mind flow and the pen will follow. Well shit, thanks for that Obi Wan Kenobi, it’s not as if I don’t have enough real shit I have to do with my time.

Anyway, where the fuck was I? Hmmm.

I’m supposed to write about anything that comes to mind, it can be fully formed or disjointed as long as it comes from me without planning or editing. Well I suppose that shit up top there can be classified as free form. There’s a lot I could write about, even more I should write about, but at the moment there is really only one thing I want to say. This sucks.

No, maybe it doesn’t suck, I’m just not sure what to say or even how to say it. All I know is I’m scared, I’m scared that I’ll be outed, I’m scared that I’ll never come out; I’m terrified of being disowned and booted out on my ass. I’m scared of Kurt Hummel and the power he has over me. But the one thing I am most afraid of… is not being able to stop.

I wish I knew how to stop the hurting, to stop being scared; to stop loving hurting Kurt Hummel, to stop hurting myself emotionally.

Just hurting myself full stop.

I have 22 scars on my left arm, 18 on my right thigh and 13 on my left. Each one of those scars lets out some of the hurt, some but never enough. It seems tears are not enough anymore; no, not by a long shot, bright crimson, quickly welling and just as quickly stopping. Although, sometimes darker, thicker blood is called for, the type that oozes slowly but never seems to stop, ever so slowly draining away the pain and letting me be for just that much longer.

Maybe I’ll try that introduction again.

My name is David Karofsky, I am a coward and a bully, I am gay and a cutter, I am residing in a pleasant but bland room with nothing sharp in evidence and an overpowering scent of disinfectant in the air, but most of all, I am David Karofsky and I am so scared.


	2. Chapter 2

Tuesday 19th June 2011.

Yeah, me again, I suppose I don’t really need to introduce myself again… I think 3 times yesterday was bad enough, but the shrink seems to think he’s Yoda or something ‘Know yourself not, each day different’. If I could roll my eyes on a piece of paper… well consider me doing it.

The shrink asked me today how I was feeling. Shit, he’s the one getting paid to tell me how I’m feeling. I don’t know, OK? I mean, fuck, how am I supposed to feel? Angry? Alone? Afraid? Just how am I supposed to pick one over-riding feeling amongst the maelstrom I have going on inside me.

Let’s see; anger, well that’s easy. You shit on me and The Fury will shit all over you. Great, now I’m anthropomorphising body parts.

Oh yeah, I’m not fucking stupid either, I can alliterate (see above), I’m a fucking wiz at science, I can even quote shit from the classics if I have to and I certainly know what anthropomorphisation is even if the rest of the useless clowns in class have to go look it up. I’m not a dumb jock. Just because I’m good at sports, a fairly big guy (not fucking fat) and more hair on my chest than the entire gleek squad have on their balls does not mean I am a fucking dumb jock. (And fuck you too Hummel, I am not chubby, I have all my hair and of course I sweat. Every fucker does… then again you probably only perspire lightly.)

No matter what I do, Hummel still manages to even over-ride everything; I can’t even rant to myself without thoughts of him being directed at me from the peanut gallery (hello id). Anyway, where was I?

Anger, yeah I haz it (got to love lolcatz). I suppose I have enough to feel angry about. I have a crap load of anger… and fear, but here’s that pesky intelligence of mine kicking in, the flip side of all that anger and fear is really guilt and hey I’m Jewish, it’s not as if I need more guilt in my life, but what can you do?

Damn, now I’m confusing myself, OK let’s simplify this. Anger + Fear + Guilt = Me. That looks about right; it certainly feels exactly how I am right about now. Then again, I’m not sure what’s worse, feeling all fucked up inside like I am… or feeling nothing at all, like I did when Kurt left McKinley.

You know, writing this shit out is supposed to be good for me, so why does it hurt so much when I do?

That infuriating all singing, all dancing, all completely rage inducing fancy pants. Him. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be like this, I wouldn’t be so angry, so afraid… so fucking guilty… so fucking gay!

So fucking gay.

Gay… like me.

I’m putting this down for a bit, too angry and tired to finish, I’ll be back in a few.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Shit, even a few hours later and a few rounds with the punching bag, I’m still fucked up about Kurt, why do I let him get to me so much? What is it about him that makes me lose all my shit over him?

Do you want to know what irony is? I’ll tell you. For every time I’ve frightened, hurt, picked on, bullied… kissed Kurt, it hurt me twice as much and I was feeling that pain even well before I would set eyes on him. The only exception to that was when I finally lost it and kissed him and then it didn’t hurt at all. I was on Cloud Fucking Nine… until he pushed me away from him, then it hurt… then it really fucking hurt. Nearly seven months later and I’m still hurting from that kiss. That bastard has been the first thing I think of when I wake up and is the last thing I think of before going to sleep for longer than I can willingly remember and I’m tired, so very god damned tired of hurting even time.

I don’t know why he makes me do what I do; or why he makes me feel what I feel. Fuck, I’d be happy to know HOW he does it to me. It’s times like these that a boy really needs his mom.

I want my mom, I’m 17 years old and I’m about to throw the tantrum of the century just so I can have my mom hold me and tell me it will be alright.

But it won’t be, ‘cos… she’s not here.


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesday 20 th June 2011.

Some days I feel too much, most days actually, but sometimes I can’t feel anything… today is one of those days. I got out of the shower this morning, dried off and then spent the next hour staring at myself in the mirror trying to see me… I couldn’t.

All I could see was this other person staring back, stark naked, cruel of eye and of disposition. Dark, empty orbs staring back out, bypassing whoever is before them as if they are not worth the effort of focusing on.

Instead of seeing a 17 year olds body, all I see is a lump of misshapen flesh; barrel-chested, covered in dark coarse hair, overly broad shoulders upon which limbs more suited to an orangutan hang limply past their hips. All in all, there is nothing good to see here, nothing worth seeing at all… nothing worth being either.

Look, I know, I know, you don’t have to hit me over the head with a Jungian Archetype or a Freudian impulse; I know what I see and I know what I am.

I’m just a kid who is hiding away, if you can’t see me, you can’t hurt me; and trust me, there is plenty of me to hurt. I should know; I hurt myself every day by being someone I’m not, by projecting against everything I really am, to hide who I really am from everyone who is like who I am not, but am pretending to be.

Huh, if my English teacher ever read that last paragraph, she’d have a fit of the vapours. I wrote it, and I still am not sure how to parse it correctly. Anyway, just read it how it is written… save the Grammar Nazis the effort of pointing it out… they can always go on to be professional writers and write instruction manuals that don’t make any sense anyhow.

Kind of like how I feel I guess.

It’s almost like somewhere in my programming, some professional writer went and put it through Google translate from English to Japanese, then back again via Swahili and ASL, then put the re-re-re-re-re-translated English programming back in… just for shits and giggles. Everything seems to be out of whack, it’s like logically, I know how to feel an emotion, but somewhere along the line the instructions my brain send get skewed and the end result is not what my brain originally sent.

Days like today are good for one thing though, with this lack of feeling I have, I can actually separate my emotions from my thoughts.

And any day that I can think about Kurt and not feel pain or hurt is a good one in my book.

In my own way I am angry with him for having it easy as a gay kid, he ticks all the boxes for a stereo-typical gay male:  
1: Effeminate – Check  
2: Fashion Savvy – Check  
3: Flamboyant – Check  
4: Musical Theatre – Check

Plus a few others, so in short, it is NOT that big a surprise that Kurt is gay… people sort of see it coming (so to speak), and sort of know where they stand on it all.

BUT

But, I’m in the locker room with all these other guys who have great bodies, it’s so hard sometimes to not even glance around… even in that ‘straight guy just comparing’ way. I look like them and I act like them, so they don’t know that I secretly fantasize over them at night… they don’t want to know that. All they want from me is to get out there and be like them so they can feel normal.

Whatever the hell that is.

These guys don’t see me coming and they don’t know where they stand with me, they don’t know that their testosterone enshrined headquarters has been infiltrated. They treat me like just one of the guys with all the perks and privileges of that standing.

Do I want to lose that camaraderie? Duh!

But I would if I came out like Kurt has, they wouldn’t treat me anything close to that.

They would treat me like they treat Kurt and I couldn’t bare that.

I know Kurt is no wuss, I’ve never seen someone take so much and still keep on going just as strong… I just hope I am not the one, who breaks him.

Kurt doesn’t appear to be affected by all the taunts and bullying, but I know better, because it kills me a little each time I see him pick himself up off the ground and fake a smile for whoever is around.

I see all this just staring at my reflection, but the honest truth is that all I really see is a pathetic loser who hasn’t got a hope in hell of ever attracting Kurt’s attention like the way he has attracted mine.

I’m too big, too hairy, too clumsy… too wrong for him.

But I really wish I wasn’t


	4. Chapter 4

Thursday 21st June 2011. 02:30

"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream by night."   
Edgar Allan Poe

Yeah, good old Edgar Allen had the right of it there.

During the day I can dream of a somewhat happier time in the distant future; glimpses of Kurt and I doing nothing in particular except for living day to day as if it is normal for us both to be there with each other, an everyday event so to speak. Does that sound strange? Is it wrong for a 17 year old to dream of nothing more than a simple future for himself and his mate?

Yeah, it is during the day that these little fantasies take flight, easy, simple and harmless… but I am left feeling complete by the uncomplicated symbolism inherent in these imaginings, a life in the sun with the one person who means so much to me.

Idealistic? …Very.

Vague? …More than likely.

Unrealistic? …Extremely.

The flip side of all this proves that I am an exposition to Murphy’s Law.

My day dreams project one thing, my day time life shows another. Don’t get me wrong, I AM getting better at this, but… well; my past dealings leave a crap load to be desired… now if that isn’t the understatement of the 21st Century, I’ll eat Kurt’s hat… the one with the feathers.

Fear is an amazing limiter as well as being a back handed motivator and I know this all too well. Too many times ‘fight or flight’ situations rear their ugly little head and over the years ‘fight’ has always won, it is practically autonomic by now… no thought involved, just the knee jerk reaction of attack back.

That infamous moment when Kurt confronted me in the locker room will haunt me until the day I die. So much fear, hatred and emotion, all of these feelings colliding in my head just made my brain shut down and finally let my heart take over.

And I kissed him.

With no conscious thought; my hands reached down and cupped his face, guiding it slightly upwards to meet mine as my face sank to meet his. Lips colliding; mine forceful and rough, his… slack and unmoving, but oh so soft.

I had done it; I had finally kissed Kurt Hummel.

Pulling back to look down into his eyes, I felt free for the first time, brave, but most importantly felt myself click into place as a whole person for the first time that I could remember. The rush of happiness and completion raced through me as I began to descend for a second kiss.

This is of course the point in movies where music swells and waves crash onto the beach when only an instant later you hear the noise of the needle being scraped along the record and real life kicks you in the teeth.

His hands pushing me away from him and the look of shock on his face; wide eyed, mouth open with his fingers pressed to where my lips had just been and it hit me what I had just done.

I had just kissed a boy and I liked it… pity he didn’t.

The look of abhorrence on his face said everything that words couldn’t; fat, ugly, hairy, Neanderthal, not even if you were the last man on earth.

It fucking hurt.

That look hurt more than me punching in the locker, hurt more than my, most definitely now, unrequited feelings for him, it hurt more than the time I broke my leg in my first season of hockey all those years ago. ‘Cos this wasn’t a physical hurt, this hurt me so deep inside that I doubt I’ll ever recover fully.

That night I bawled my eyes out like I have never done before.

Huh, damn, this shit isn’t even what I wanted to write about tonight, I started out about dreams and ended up with living nightmares. Maybe the shrink is right, just clear the mind and let the pen flow.

Now, I’m just going to grab some water or something, I still want to finish what I started originally… back in a bit.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Thursday 21st June 04:48

So yeah, I started this out tonight with a quote from Edgar Allen Poe, it’s about how those who dream during the day can see clearer and further than those who only dream at night. I have told you about my daydreams, now l want to go into the night ones.

I just want to say right now, I’m still a 17 year old guy, a gay guy, but a guy none the less. Sex and getting off is still right up there for me the same as any other guy my age. I may not talk about it much here, but it is certainly something that I think and dream about constantly.

Now a lot of this shit I’ve been writing sort of falls into the ‘chick flick’ realm of thinking and if that’s what you think then fuck you. My diary, my writing… my rules.

But I dream, some of the things I dream about would leave Mae West and Mata Hari both blushing like virgins (and YES, I do know who Mae West and Mata Hari are, I’m not a complete fucktard.)

Would it surprise you to know that for every single thing I dream about me doing to Kurt, I have just as many dreams of Kurt doing everything to me? I want to experience everything that can be experienced.

You see, I kind of have this theory for when two guys get together in the sack. Like, guys have all the same equipment, a cock’s a cock and an ass is an ass, it all functions the same way. Now when a guy screws a chick he only knows how it feels for him, there’s no real way a guy can tell what the chick is feeling.

But with two guys, if you go down on a guy, you know just how fucking good that feels so you want to make it really good for them. Same as when you’re fucking, if you and the guy you’re with are both into fucking and getting fucked, you know, you just fucking know how great that all feels.

Hey, I ‘aint no prude, I know where my prostate is and I know just how damned good it feels having something hitting it and filling you up.

And yeah, like I said the other day, I haven’t been with anyone, you know… kind the big V here, but that don’t mean anything… ever heard of toys?

Ah, fuck it, goin’ for broke here.

I have this toy I keep stashed; it’s nothing much to look at, only about 5 inches long and about ¾ inch across, I don’t know maybe average sized or a bit under, but it works for me. I figure that the first time I get screwed for real I still want to feel as if it is the first time for both of us, I want that burn and stretch, that sharp pain that tells you that this is something different.

But at the same time, I don’t want to completely freak out if I’m faced with something on the big side, (hmmm, I wonder if Kurt is a show’er or a grow’er?) so I kind of compromised and bought this toy.

Let me tell you, I had it for 3 weeks before I even took it out of its box, another week before I tried to suck on it (plastic-y with no give), but the feeling of trying to suck on it while imagining it is Kurt got me ramped up in seconds.

Another thing I learnt, not matter how big or small you think it is going up your ass, your ass is a fuck load smaller than you think so lube is the key, you can never use too much lube. The first time I actually tried to fuck myself with it was the night after I kissed Kurt.

It FUCKING HURTS at first; I mean, I knew it would, but Jesus H Fucking Christ does it hurt. I practically yelped like a bitch and jumped off the bed, so I went a little slower and easier until I could get used to it.

Now at first, even when your ass gets used to this invader, it kind of feels sorta ‘ho hum… next…whatever’

BUT

When you hit that spot it’s like getting a hat trick or a touchdown, but all inside. Chicks know this; guys don’t unless they are a little more liberal in their thinking.

Fuck, I didn’t mean to turn this into a ‘how to’ manual, I’m just trying to explain me.

But… yeah, I can admit to myself that I enjoy getting fucked, I know I’ll love fucking as well and in my dreams Kurt and I fuck like bunnies till neither of us can walk straight.

Now finally… dreams.

They usually start the way most dreams do, innocuously enough; Kurt and I somewhere or other, I’m almost always trying to beg for forgiveness while Kurt looks on disdainfully, haughty as all fuck. Sometimes he just ignores me, others he walks away; but the one I have been having lately… almost every night for the past couple of weeks is this:

 _We’re on the football field and it’s after practice, (now don’t ask me why Kurt is on the field after practice… he just is!)_

 _He turns to me and asks me why I kissed him. I can’t answer him, I am physically incapable of answering him, but I want to so much. He starts to turn his back to me and I’m screaming at him that I am sorry; it is practically wrenched from me as I yell it out. It stops Kurt dead in his tracks and not turning around he asks me what I am sorry for._

 _Now I know this is the be all and end all of this conversation; I know this is where I have to man up and tell all or lose any chance of him forgiving me._

 _I tell him I am sorry for everything, sorry for the slushies, sorry for the locker slams, sorry for the bullying and the name calling and then I also tell him I am not sorry for kissing him. He says nothing to this, but his eyes… his eyes tell me he already knows about me, that he had already worked me out._

 _Without saying a word he beckons me imperiously with a crooked finger, I don’t really have any choice as my feet take me to only a foot away from him and drop me to my knees before him. Looking up at him I see his lip curl up in a slight smirk._

 _He knows I want him, why else would his hand grasp the back of my head and pull it towards his crotch? I want him so much that I don’t even bother resisting; I just open my mouth and mouth along the bulge in his jeans. His hand presses firmer against my head, crushing my face hard against his cock, making me feel him get harder. I barely can breathe, but as far I’m concerned I am happy to on like this till I drop dead._

 _His hand grips my hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me back away from where I want to be until his voice rasps that he wants me to suck him, to open his jeans and swallow him whole._

 _Who am I to say no?_

 _I can feel my hands trembling as I reach up to his button fly, fingers fumbling with each button until I finally have the last one undone and slowly begin to lower his jeans. Trapped beneath a very thin layer of boxer-briefs is his cock, so much bigger than my toy one at home, I want him in my mouth so much that I physically shake._

 _Reaching my hand into his briefs, I cup his cock in my hand; it is thick and feels so solid to the touch, with my other hand I gently pull down his underwear, making sure I don’t catch anything as I do (trust me, when you are that fucking hard and you yank down your boxers, the last thing you want is to get your cock caught in the band as you yank them down… it really kind of hurts.)_

 _Finally free, I let his cock go as I move my head alongside his hip and just look at it. He seems to be about 8 or so inches long and thick, so very thick, uncut with the head just peeking out halfway beckoning me closer._

 _I don’t think as I run my tongue around his head, lathing that sensitive tip with my tongue and drawing it into my mouth, letting my lips close over and wrap tightly around him._

 _The grunt that is startled out my as Kurt’s hand forces my head down further on him only encourages him more as he begins to languidly thrust deeper into my mouth. I can taste him, so clean, strong and male, that musk that every guy knows as the scent of sex._

 _Giving up finesse, Kurt thrusts harder and harder, making me gag, but not caring one iota._

 _His grunts are louder and deeper now, he’s not far off blowing and I need to taste him._

 _A final push on my head and a bellow from Kurt signals the end as the back of my tongue is coated with his come._

 _Pulling his hips back so his cock leaves my mouth, Kurt wraps one hand around himself and pumps twice, milking the remainder of his come and letting it fall on my face, marking me as his._

 _A self-satisfied grunt later and Kurt is smearing the last couple of drops on my face before pushing me away and pulling back up is briefs and jeans._

 _A sneer is evident as he throws out ‘thanks Karofsky’ before turning and leaving me there on my knees in dirt and with his come all over my face and tears in my eyes._

And that’s how I wake up, so hard and horny, but with tear tracks running down my face.

As I said before I’m not stupid, I know what it means.

I feel overwhelming guilt for how I treated Kurt

I don’t feel as if I deserve Kurt.

I am in love with Kurt Hummel.

But you know something?

Tomorrow I am going to talk to Kurt and try explaining as best I can. It is the only thing I can do.


	5. Chapter 5

Friday 22nd June 2011

You know, that worked out better in my head than in reality, I should have known that Kurt wouldn’t have given me the time of day. Hell him ignoring me would have been better than him looking straight through me as if I wasn’t there. Not just once or twice… but every single time I approached him. I even gently placed my hand on his shoulder and asked him if we could talk; and nothing, not a flinch or a shrug, he just continued talking to that Mercedes girl as if I was a ghost.

I know he knew I was there, the look on Mercedes’ face as he completely refused to acknowledge my existence would have been hilarious in any other situation, but today it only left me numb.

I woke up this morning feeling good, better than I have since this whole debacle started, fuck; even Big D Jr. was getting into the mood and it has been so long since he felt in the mood that I was practically singing ‘Oh what a beautiful morning’ when I woke up eye to eye with him.

Well, I suppose I should be thankful that someone got some loving recently… something tells me it will be a long fucking time before it happens again.

I know I’ve been depressed and my junk has been affected just as much as I have. When you just can’t be assed jerking off of a morning cos it’s all too much bother and the other party just ain’t interested anyway. My shrink explained it to me, didn’t make that much sense, I just wanted to know why I couldn’t get it up.

Yeah, ain’t that a kicker, I don’t care that my bod’s chemistry is all fucked up cos I’m feeling down, I’m a guy, you just can’t take my junk and put it in the ‘fucked up basket’ and expect me to be fucking happy about it.

So yeah, this morning was good, and it just kept on getting better as the morning went on. I was confident that I could at least try speaking to Kurt without upsetting him, or myself. I even made sure I had on my fitted jeans and a tight fit button down, so I was looking pretty damn good even if I did say so myself.

Walking across the football field, I finally see Kurt with Finn and Wheels. Walking over to them I threw up a little prayer to whoever was listening for a bit of help.

No-one was listening I’m afraid; instead of raining on my parade, someone up there went one better and decided to piss on it instead.

As I neared their little group, Kurt locked eyes with me for the only time that day, just long enough for me to see his eyes harden, then un-focus slightly so it seemed he was looking through me.

That set the stage for the rest of the day, by lunch I wasn’t sure I was visible at all. I’ve never really understood how one could shrink inside oneself to the extent that one simply didn’t exist anymore… until then anyways.

Look at me! I’m 6”2’ and 220lbs. I should not be able to disappear that far into myself because of a 5”10, 140lbs Gleek! I know physics… it is just not possible… but that is exactly what happened.

That little faggot is going to break me one of these days and I’m not that sure that today was the start of it.

Or maybe it is the end of it and I haven’t caught up yet.

I have been sitting here in my room since I ditched the afternoon lessons and it is getting close to midnight.

Maybe just one more scar won’t make a difference, there’s enough there already.

Just one more, try get this hurt out.

The last time… I promise.

Mom… please just… one… please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mom.”

It is just on the edge of her hearing, a weak, wet sob. Just loud enough for her to know it was a word instead of pointless noise.

Getting wearily out of bed, Jaclyn barely bothers to tie her robe before a loud thump echoes from down the passage.

“Mom… help.”

Racing down the passage to her son’s room, Jaclyn throws open his door and looks in… and wishes to god she never did.

“DAVE!”


	6. Chapter 6

Jaclyn shifted positions for the fifth time in as many minutes, trying in vain to get some form of comfort from the chair she had sat in for the past seven hours. The physical discomfort nothing compared to the way her emotions roiled inside her. Her son, her baby boy… lying on the ground naked from the waist down, blood smeared all over his legs and dripping down to stain the carpet, _got to clean that_.

 _The blood, the way it seemed to run in rivulets before being smeared by Dave’s hand as he stared dumbly up at her, his broken cries of ‘Mom… it hurts’. The razor in his hand, it brilliant shine hidden by the dark congealing mess of blood (never be clean). His final words before passing out were completely chilling._

 _“K’rt… dn’t tell K’rt mom… he’ll ‘ate me ‘ven more… L’ve ‘im mom… l’ve ‘im…”_

 _Staring at her son as he is bundled into the ambulance, her mind blank bar the one, _two,_ thoughts... ‘My son is gay, _he’s a fag_ … my son… gay.’_

Not even feeling Paul’s hand on her shoulder or even registering his words of assurance, Jaclyn breathed deep and steeled herself. “Paul, follow us in the car… I’ll go with Dave.”

That was nearly eight and a half hours ago, three hours ago she sent Paul back home after the doctors assured them that Dave would be fine, no major damage done, but the scar would more than likely need skin grafts as the cuts themselves were both deep and jagged.

He would have to have compulsory meeting with the duty psychiatrist later in the day. The Doctor had been forced to sedate Dave as he worked on stitching the cuts up, still caught up in whatever nightmare prompted Dave to begin carving that word into his leg.

FAG.

Eyes dully glancing up at the clock on the wall, Jaclyn saw that she had been sitting there for seven hours and twenty two minutes and all she can think about is ‘My son is a fag… _Dave is gay_ … What did I do wrong…? _How can I help him?’_

Nothing made sense anymore, except it did. With the reason now hidden beneath gauze and bandages, Dave’s behaviour over the last few months made a macabre form of sense. Kurt… it must be Kurt Hummel, that boy that Dave was expelled briefly for, didn’t really take a genius to work out that Kurt was a touch fey _fag_ , Dave bullied him because he didn’t know how else to behave.

Jaclyn regretted sending Paul home now; this was his area of expertise, not hers. Paul would be able to tell her how to fix it, how to help _fix_ Dave _make him not a fag anymore_.

Closing her eyes Jaclyn finally wept for her son, for herself and Paul… and maybe even a couple of tears for the Hummel kid as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
As the fog lifted, Dave became more aware of his surroundings, the hitched sobs coming from next to him, the steady electronic beeping that came from the opposite side and the faint sound of a trolley wheel in desperate need of oiling.

Allowing the rhythmic beep to soothe him and letting it keep him in that halfway state just before full consciousness kicks in he hears a vague utterance from next to him

“My son… gay… a fag… do wrong?”

All jumbled together but coherent enough for Dave’s mind to be able to parse the meaning.

‘They know. Mom knows.’

Screwing his eyes tightly shut, Dave, tries to shut out those words and their meaning, begging within his own mind to take him away, to let him forget that he ever heard them in the first place.

It seems that whoever was in control of Dave’s life up there was having a field day fucking around with him as blissful oblivion overtook him once more and shoved him face first back into a twisted memory of what had happened.

 _“Surely one more scar won’t make a difference Dave,” Kurt’s voice entreats into his ear. “Just one more scar to make up for how you hurt me… you do love me Dave, don’t you? You’ll do anything for me now… won’t you baby?”_

 _Just one more scar, one more to prove I am sorry and to beg forgiveness from Kurt. Please Kurt, let me love you._

 _The pain is immediate and fierce, the burn as the razor slices into his thigh and the relief as the blood flows taking away the pain, first the downstroke then the top bar._

 _“Keep going Dave, one more stroke and the first letter is finished, one more for me Dave, prove you love me.” Kurt’s voice whispers into his mind._

 _Stifling a sob, Dave finishes the letter; through his tears he sees the letter ‘F’ and knows he is only a third of the way there._

 _“You do want me to love you Dave, do this for me and I will always love you, only two more to go.”_

 _Knowing now exactly what will seal Kurt's and his love together, Dave attacks his thigh again, deeper than before, two more cuts and more pain is released along with the blood, two sides of a triangle, pointing up._

 _“Not a triangle baby, an ‘A’, c’mon now, nearly there.”_

 _Kurt’s voice is so seductive, promising everything, but giving nothing, nothing until he does as Kurt wants._

 _“So close baby, when you finish we can be together, I know you want that… I know you want to do as I asked because you love me, you want to feel my body, taste my cock as you suck me deep, you want to replace that toy of yours with the real thing, you need me to fuck you.”_

 _Yes Kurt, yes, anything for you._

 _“So I see Davey baby, look at your cock, so big and hard from the thought of pleasuring me with your body, such a beautiful big cock for such a big fag, isn’t it Davey, the thought of me fucking you, turning you into my bitch is what you want. Say it… SAY IT!”_

 _Please Kurt, fuck me, please, make me a real fag, ignore my useless cock and treat me like a bitch, just do it!_

 _“You know what to do the Karofsky… finish it!”_

 _Driving the point of the razor deeper and dragging it to make the shape of a ‘G’ is the final straw. The pain outweighs any release at all._

 _“Good little bitch.” Kurt’s voice has lost all its seductiveness and is harsh and demeaning, “next time you’ll think twice won’t you fag?”_

Kurt’s laughter is enough to wake Dave properly this time and wake he does with a blood curdling shriek that is half physical pain and half anguish as he stares full into the eyes of his mom.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday 24th June 2011 20:16

My name is David Karofsky, I am 17 years old, gay and two days ago I lost it.

If you listen to my mother tell it, I had an ‘incident’; my father tells it a little different, according to him I experienced a ‘psychotic episode’.

I prefer the term lost it, it still has a fairly ambiguous meaning, but call it what you may; I was still the one who carved ‘FAG’ into my own thigh. If that doesn’t qualify as losing it, fuck knows what does.

Well what do you know? I’ve lasted a whole five minutes without bursting into tears, whether it is from guilt, shame, embarrassment, anger, fear or the whole situation I don’t know.

When I woke up, screaming like a ban-sidhe, all I could see was the fear on mom’s face, all I wanted to do was to crawl into her arms, but both of us were petrified of the other. I couldn’t move and mom wouldn’t. Mom now knows I’m gay and she’s freaked.

BUT, all she asked me was this, “Do you really love him that much Davey?” her words were soft and gentle, but they seemed to carry the sadness of the ages as they fell from her lips.

I got all choked up and practically bawled out that yes I do, I love him so much and all I’ve done is hurt him.

That’s when I got scooped up in her arms and we both finally cried like babes.

Maybe that is what I needed all along, someone to know, but still be there for me regardless.

It won’t be easy, mom said that she doesn’t understand, but she loves me the same as she did before, that it was for her to learn to accept… no, that’s not the word she used… it was for her to learn that it made no difference, that to accept something is to indicate a point of difference and to her it will not make a difference, but to please give her time to adjust.

Mom point blank said that she and my father will both fuck it up occasionally. Mom was honest enough with me to admit everything that went through her head… the good and the bad.

Trust me, the bad really fucking hurt, kind of an opposite extremes sort of deal.

I still haven’t talked to dad yet… that kind of scares me shitless.

See, my old man is a shrink, he deals with this sort of situation every day, but it seems I am the exception to that rule. I don’t know if he feels guilty ‘cos he should have seen this coming or if he feels he can’t deal with it once it hits homes and not just people who pay him the big bucks. All I know is that it will be one conversation that I am not looking forward to.

Ok, why did I do it seems to be the big question on everyone’s lips. Can I honestly say I don’t know why exactly? I know I am depressed, this by the way has been clinically confirmed, but I wasn’t thinking of suicide. I just hurt and I don’t know how to let it out any other way.

Why did I carve FAG on my leg? Well shit you’re the shrink… you tell me… classic Freudian.

What am I scared of?

Fuck… where do I start? Kurt. He terrifies the living crap out of me, how he makes me feel, how he makes me act (I know it is I who makes me act that way, but it is still linked). I am scared of never being able to come out; I am scared of coming out… I am so fucking scared of being scared enough to off myself like those guys last year at college.

I mean, FUCK… If I’m this afraid at high school; then these guys who are in college who are still so scared shitless, that they kill themselves. What fucking hope I have I fucking got for the rest of my fucking life?

But most of all, I am afraid I will never be myself again.

I remember my dream when mom was sitting next to me before I woke up. My fucked up mind took the one thing that I hold dear and twisted it into a cruel parody of my dearest hopes. It wasn’t Kurt’s voice egging me on; it was my own thoughts in Kurt’s voice that drove me over the edge.

I mean, think about it; I bullied, assaulted, threatened his life and I kissed him. I know I love Kurt, but I don’t think I care enough about myself to ever be good enough for him.

So yeah, I’m fucked up in the head enough to know that I can’t deal with being gay, but I crave that intimacy. I want to be Kurt’s fuck toy, I can probably pull off being a muscle bear, you know the ones who look of big and tough, but play with their nipples and they beg to be fucked.

Hey, don’t judge, I’ve seen enough porn to know that this is not uncommon at all, I’ve also seen enough porn where twinks throw the most wicked of fucks that the big daddy Muscle Mary’s can’t take it anymore.

So you can sort of see my predicament, on one hand I am terrified of being seen as gay and on the other I dream of being banged by the campest twink at school.

Fuck… if you only knew how long it has taken me to write this… I can’t keep doing this to myself.

Writing all this shit out hurts, it fucking hurts so much. I have to stop every few lines so I can get control of myself.

I am sick and tired of having to do shit how everyone else thinks I should.

Fuck you shrink, you’re not even queer… what the fuck could you know?

Fuck you McKinley High, I’m gay, what you going to do about it?

Fuck you Kurt Hummel… I love you, deal with it!

‘Cos, I need help here… I’m going fucking insane.

Why does everything have to hurt so much?


	8. Chapter 8

Monday 25th June 2011 13:48

I swear if I have to watch Oprah for another minute, I’m going over the wall… how do chicks dig this? It’s bad enough my shrink wants me to open up and have a rational intercourse with my inner David… as opposed to what? My irrational intercourse that I wish I could have with Kurt? I swear the guy just leaves himself wide open.

It’s bad enough I have a live in shrink at home, although dear ole’ dad has been rather conspicuous by his absence the last couple of days, but to have to deal with this ass wipe as well should be covered in the Geneva Convention, you know… the cruel and unusual punishment thing.

This shrink’s arrogance is only eclipsed by his ignorance, he’s probably happily married (if the wedding ring he wears is any indication), I don’t know, how can he _‘understand’_ my frustrations and my fears…? I barely understand them myself. He’s not gay, so how can he just sit there and tell me to basically man up and face myself and the others _‘important’_ to me?

If he was really any good, he’d be in doing private consults… not just hanging around the hospital on the off chance a nutcase comes in off the street.

Huh, I suppose he knows something though, these anti-depressants he has me on seem to even me out a little bit, could be too early to tell, but maybe…

I keep trying to keep my mind off of Kurt, but it seems that is just another thing I am incapable of doing. I wonder if Kurt knows I’m here, and if he does… would he care? Does he know he put me here, not as in here in hospital, but as in mentally? I find myself in a quandary here; I know I have to make things right with Kurt, but I can’t do that until I’ve made things right for myself, but I won’t be able to do that until I have spoken to Kurt.

Kind’a chicken vs egg thing going on here

And, if I do speak to Kurt, what do I say…? Sorry seems so inadequate; let’s move in together and I’ll bare your children would probably make him run for the hills. So… fucked if I know.

I have gone over that day in the locker room so many times now; I can see and feel it all without even closing my eyes, wondering what I could have done different, but then again… the past is the past, you can only learn from it; the future is just that, the future… it is only the present that we can control.

God, all this shit gives me a headache, all of the coulda’s, the shoulda’s and the woulda’s and _‘if’_ is one of the smallest words with one of the most all-encompassing meanings.

Shit, I thought these drugs were supposed to stop me doing this. Back in a bit, need to sort my shit once again.

Monday 25th June 2011 17:29

I looked at it properly for the first time today, fuck knows what was going through my mind when I did it, but I suppose I did it in the true Karofsky manner… all the way or not at all.

 **‘FAG’** , the stitches do nothing to hide it and it’s going to scar big time, stark against the paleness of my thigh. ‘FAG’

Mom told me I’ll have to have a skin graph or two to cover it, but I’ve kind of screwed myself for sports for the next couple of years or so, kind of performed a transversal medial bisection of my adductor brevis, longus and magnus. Basically fucked up my adductors, they’ll never have the same strength or flexibility.

Guess I won’t be throwing my legs in the air in a hurry for a bit then…

So I guess that means I won’t be a jock for a while… won’t be a jock… that hurts more than I’d like to admit.

Fuck, what do I do now? One of my last shields is gone. Jesus, when I really fuck up, I do it in style…

Monday 25th June 2011 22:41

Have you ever had a day when all you feel like is the shit that someone steps in, and then drags around on the grass to remove?

Dad finally came in to see me, but he wasn’t dad, no he was wearing his shrink hat tonight.

I hate that analytical face he wears, carefully considering his words… I’m not his fucking patient, I’m his SON!

It made no difference what I said, he was so cold… no not cold, just neutral. I mean, I’ve pretty much gone and fucked up my life beyond recognition and he just sits there looking at me like I am a puzzle for him to solve!

Christ, he couldn’t even bring up me being gay, just talked about this dark place I’ve entered and that he was there for me and that he understood how I felt.

 **HOW THE FUCK COULD HE UNDERSTAND HOW I FEEL!**

Does he know the utter fear that grips me every time I see Kurt, has he ever been so afraid to tell people the truth about himself that he would go out of his way to attack anyone who got close to that truth?

The more I yelled the calmer and more controlled he became. I told him that I was his son, not someone paying for an hour’s therapy. You know what he said?

That fucker turned around and said that seeing as he failed as a father, he refuses to fail to ‘work us out’???????

Guess I know where he stands now.

Well, I suppose I might as well just line everyone I’ve ever disappointed, hurt, failed or whatever up and let them take pot shots at me, just let them finish the job.

Fuck this for a joke.

I can’t deal with this shit now.


	9. Chapter 9

Saturday 30th June 2011 8:19

Fuck, talk about a week. So much has happened, most pretty good… although there were a few dark spots along the way.

Where do I start?

I suppose after all the limb flailing and “why hast thou forsaken me’s?” of Monday, I wasn’t feeling all that crash hot you could say and I kind of took it out on my shrink… ex shrink that is (fist pump!).

I’ll give the guy his dues to a certain degree, he may not know how to deal with queers, but fuck can he prescribe some good shit. No… nothing like that, but the fucker finally seems to have managed to work out an anti-depressant regime that works on keeping my head relatively straight (no pun intended there… that’s for sure) without the extreme mood swings, nausea, lethargy or the violence. So yeah… looks like he is good for something after all.

Tuesday morning session with him was like trying to tap dance through a mine field, the fucker is a Jungian so I couldn’t help the occasional passive-aggressive Freudianism’s I threw in for laughs. What is it with Jungians that they seem to jump on the slightest hint of something and try force you into playing a demented game of word association?

Example… I told (screamed actually) him to go and fuck himself; he kept asking why I ‘thought’ I was gay? Did I suffer childhood trauma? Was I molested by some bad man? Did my mother ‘smother’ me whilst I was in my formative psycho-sexual years? I mean shit, when did this guy get his accreditation…? 1912?

So while trying to explain calmly and coolly (hey, I can do it you know) that no, I wasn’t abused, no bad man touched me in places where I would have to point to the anatomically incorrect dolly and most definitely no to my mother being a smotherer. So he just has to jump on the good ole Oedipal Complex (for a Jungian, he sure uses a lot of Freud). I mean EWWWWWW and secondly… HELLO GAY HERE!! Not really interested in women full stop. SHEESH.

Kinda felt like a dog chasing his tail, not really getting anywhere fast. So I bit the bullet and asked him if he knew ANY Gay or Bisexual Identifying Peers and if he did to get me their numbers stat!

Well ride me hard and put me away wet (REALLY have to stop watching porn before doing this) the fucker actually had a list?!?!?!?

In reality though, there were only two in that list that consulted in Lima and of those two, one was a 70 year old fogy. Hmmmm, not really doing it for me ya know and the other… well… what can I say about June?

She’s about in her mid-thirties, a bull dyke (her words not mine), could suck start a Harley at 20 paces and would roll her own tampons out of newspaper if she bothered with them at all. (Ok just managed to gross myself out there)

What she also is, is FUCKING BRILLIANT!

June also is the prettiest looking slip of a lass you ever could see.

Her first question to me was, “So Dave, are you a butch bear, a bitch bear or are you just a greedy yogi bear?”

Queue my agog stare and jaw drop.

June continued that the reason she asked me was that to look at her, she looked like the girliest lipstick dyke you could find, she looked good like this, and she was comfortable like this. What you saw here was just the outer casing… inside she’s rough, tough and would, “…chew you up and spit you out quicker than you could get a hard on. Just because I look all sweet and nice doesn’t mean I am.” In her own words that is.

June stopped then and just looked at me for a moment.

I think I’ll direct quote her here, never has anyone just seen me for me before… until June that is.

“I think I am just like you Dave, just reversed, you’re all fight and aggression on the outside, but I think you are nothing more than a kid who’s confused and fighting himself and the world around him because he’s scared… and a little in love I think as well.”

Queue the tears, the tissues and the hugs.

Tears from me natch, tissues and hugs from June.

By the time I had gotten hold of myself our session was almost over, but her last question to me was what is his name?

I think I smiled for the first time since I sliced into myself and answered ‘Kurt’.

So you can see I kind of had a pretty full Tuesday

\-----

Wednesday and Thursday passed similarly, all the time I am getting more and more comfortable with June and it made me realise that June and Kurt are almost identical in a lot of ways, granted Kurt is still a little effeminate in many ways, but the inner strength and the ‘all or fuck all’ attitude are identical.

Near the end of our Thursday session, June decided to try ambush me, she wants to try get in contact with Kurt and his father, bring them in on a session.

I freaked and not in a good way either.

I felt betrayed… how’s that for irony; my shrink, whom I have only known for two and a half days, made me feel betrayed because she wanted to bring the root of all my evil face to face with me?

I can’t say I am proud of how I reacted and some of the things I said were nothing short of malicious and cruel, but yet all June did was sit throughout my rant as if it was nothing more than a three year olds tantrum.

Then she suggested that I send Kurt a letter, nothing more than an apology, no need to go into minute details regarding him and how he affect’s me, just a simple apology and some background info.

I still don’t know, there is so much I want to say to him, but so much would only hurt him if he knew how I’ve reacted to his coldness. Despite his ignoring me, Kurt is not inherently cruel and he would feel some sort of blame for my actions.

Blame he has no right to feel or accept, my actions are just that, my actions. I am not proud of them and I believe that I could never make it up to Kurt in any way that’s meaningful or real, but we’ll see.

Maybe I could write a letter to Kurt, but not send it… kind of a dry run so to speak… maybe… we’ll see.

Anyway, back to my week and Friday… the weirdest day yet.

I was booked in for a double session with June in the morning before meeting with my surgeon in the afternoon about the grafts. The main problem there was not so much the session with June or the Doc, but having both Mom and Dad speaking to the surgeon as if I was a three year old and incapable of asking my own questions. I mean why not ask me what my pain levels are, not talk for me and say I’m fine… trust me I’m not, those cuts still really hurt about an hour before my next dose is due, but no, they know better.

My session with June went better though, although I feel as if I have lost some manly points there. June got me to admit that I seem to really enjoy something ‘up there’ and that most of my fantasies revolve around me being the one getting it hard, fast, deep and often… usually from a bitchy little mini Machiavellian Plotting Lothario Fashion Plate.

Eh, so I have a type… bite me!

Although I do wish I could get my little toy smuggled in here somehow, would love to see mom’s face if I asked her to grab it for me.

Maybe I could ask June if she could grab me one… purely for research purposes of course.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italics indicate dream sequence, Bold Italics indicate a dream within the Dream Sequence, Regular font indicates present timeframe

_I can still smell him, long after he passes by; an earthy, citrusy scent… one I know all too well, Marc Jacobs’ Bang Pour Homme. Trust Kurt to be designer everything… then again, he wouldn’t be Kurt otherwise._

 _They say that scent is the greatest memory trigger known and I know that this is true, I can’t help but picture Kurt every time I smell that cologne… or even smell oranges or the smell of the outdoors just after the rain, all this and more identify the originator as Kurt._

 _Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath, I allow the scent to linger, identifying the individual notes it is comprised of, letting them lull me into the belief that Kurt is nearby. Letting out my breath before I get light headed I notice that the scent is stronger than before, slightly more spicy and alive, the citrus has more zest and the earthiness more musky than usual. I open my eyes and look down._

 _Down in to the eyes of no other than the man himself._

 _I look down into Kurt’s eyes and I breathe again._

 _“Dave?” Kurt softly asks, “Are you alright?”  
If he only knew how long I have dreamed of him looking at me so, soft concern in his voice; no hatred or abhorrence, just a simple question and yet it is one that undoes me._

 _It’s time, time to come clean._

 _So much I want to say and yet I am incapable of even forming a word as I feel the dam begin to crumble inside me, the only thing holding back my every emotion, my every action and my every wish._

 _Feeling my eyes sting as they begin to well and frantically blinking to hold them back; I can only stutter out, “No,” before that dam breaks down completely and I am swept away by the currents of my own imaginings and feelings… and as I drown in my own maelstrom I reach out to Kurt and drag him in close to me as I finally let it all out._

 _Hours, seconds, minutes or days later; I find myself still wrapped around Kurt like a demented octopus and I can only imagine how I appear to him; red, swollen eyes, snotty nose and blotchy skin._

 _I’m not game to look him in the face just yet, I can see I have ruined his sweater, tears and snot staining it and it is so soft that I know it has to be dry clean only. Shuddering slightly I finally look up into his eyes and see redemption… hope._

 _Startling blue eyes, highlighted with soft greys and vivid greens look down on me. Ageless pain and wisdom emanate from behind them as he softly croons to me as a mother would a terrified child. Kurt’s hand softly raking through my hair, as if in an almost unconscious movement, and his words… his words are so soft as to be almost unvocalised._

 _“Shhh, I know Dave, I know… I’m here now.”_

 _And I fall apart all over again._

 _I can feel his arm wind tighter around me and his fingers still moving gently through my hair as I fall asleep exhausted… but happy._

 _I feel a difference between us now, as the days pass I still remember how Kurt held me, the soft loving words, the tender looks and for the first time in a long while I begin to hope._

 _It seems that whoever is up there hasn’t totally forsaken me and as I close my eyes… I dream._

  


00000

  
 **_“Kurt?”_ **

**_His fingers continue tracing patterns on my chest as he answers abstractedly._ **

**_“Yes Dave.”_ **

**_“You know how I said when it was time; I’d tell you… well I’m telling you.”_ **

**_His fingers cease movement, catching my chest hair painfully between his fingers._ **

**_“You sure Dave?”_ **

**_“Yeah… it’s time… I’m sure.”_ **

**_Lifting my head from where it was laid upon his lap, I watch as he stands and reaches out his hand to me._ **

**_Grasping his hand I raise myself up, putting minimal weight onto Kurt for no matter what will happen next, I am still much bigger and heavier that he is._ **

**_“Then Dave, if it is time…it is time.”_ **

**_His voice roughens at the last, curling licks of heat thread their way through his words, down through our joined hands to settle deep inside my gut… finally it’s going to happen._ **

**_No more toy, just pure Kurt._ **

**_We have discussed this many times, the first time he takes me properly. I told him I didn’t care how or when, but that first time I only wanted him inside me, no rubbers, just him._ **

**_I need to feel him come inside me, branding me as his._ **

**_Kurt being Kurt had to argue repeatedly until I told him why, because I only wanted him, and he could read anything and everything into that._ **

**_I won._ **

**_My hands are shaking as they reach up to unbutton his shirt, it’s not as if we haven’t fooled around together before, but never has he fucked me with his cock, the toy yes… but tonight that changes._ **

**_My lips nuzzle the skin beneath them before I even have his shirt off of his shoulders, my need to worship him is growing stronger the closer we get. Flickering my tongue over his nipples gets a sharp, drawn in breath from Kurt, followed by a sharp exhale and it excites me knowing I can do this to him._ **

**_I want to linger, but I need all of him now, I can always linger afterwards._ **

**_Unbuckling his belt as I lightly graze my cheek across his flank, my stubble causing his muscle to contract away involuntarily, but I neither worry nor care by this point as I slide his briefs down and watch his cock spring free._ **

**_Solid, raw and unabashed his cock stares at me, his scent assailing my nostrils and I crave, I crave his taste, his texture; the feeling of him sliding deep down my throat filling me from the mouth before he fills me from behind._ **

**_My throat is dry and raspy as sheer want envelopes me in such a way that makes it impossible to think of nothing else but Kurt’s pleasure._ **

**_Sliding my tongue along the underside until I reach his knob, still half sheathed inside his foreskin, I slide my tongue in between the two; just to hear Kurt’s cut of cry… I know he loves it when I do that._ **

**_Swirling my tongue inside his foreskin, I get Kurt’s full flavour and I begin to pant._ **

**_He’s big, real big and thick, I know it is going to hurt when he fucks me and god I so want him to make me feel._ **

**_I can feel is hands on the back of my head, slowly pushing me onto his cock as he slowly thrusts his cock deeper down my throat. I love this so much._ **

**_Taking a deep breath, I swallow and take more of him until my nose is squashed up against his pubes… tastefully trimmed of course._ **

**_I feel his hand sliding down my back towards my ass and I can’t help but moan and thrust my ass up higher into the air so it is easier to reach for him._ **

**_“Turn around.” He murmurs, barely a voice, more like boulders scraping against a glacier, so deep and gravelly._ **

**_Turning around I get back down on all fours and I sense more than feel his hand nearing my hole._ **

**_Arching my back even more, I manage to beg brokenly and then I feel it, a finger at my cleft, lightly skimming my hole, teasing me… torturing me… I want him so badly._ **

**_I must sound like a bad porn star by the filthy moan I release as his tongue swipes my ass. His hands are no longer gentle now as they grip the two sides of my ass tightly and spread them wide before his tongue dives in deep inside me._ **

**_Opening me up for him._ **

**_I writhe on the end of his tongue, forcing my ass back onto it, feeling him rim me so deep, tasting me._ **

**_My moan of disappointment at the loss of his tongue is short lived as I feel the blunt head of his cock graze my hole… I shudder convulsively._ **

**_I can feel the slickness as he slides his cock over and around my hole, knowing he’s already lubed up._ **

**_Kurt’s breath comes short and hard, “Ready?” and not even waiting for a reply he pushes in._ **

**_Fuck, the pain is worse than I expected, but that doesn’t seem to bother my cock, it’s still hard and practically throbbing in time with my heartbeat as Kurt pushes inexorably deeper inside me until he is fully seated and his balls brushing against my own._ **

**_“Dave…Please” Kurt begs brokenly._ **

**_Not answering him verbally, I rear back hard and see stars… and howl at the moon._ **

**_Taking his cue from me, Kurt pulls back out to the tip and thrusts back inside, angling his cock so it doesn’t hit my prostate, but the full length of his cock glides against it making me shudder and howl._ **

**_Harder and faster he keeps thrusting, each thrust of his met with me backing into him and screaming from the rafters until with one last thrust he stills and shakes._ **

**_And he fills me._ **

**_I scream as I feel him come inside me, my own orgasm just a moment away and with one final grind against Kurt… I come as well._ **

**_Feeling empty as he pulls out, I groan as the ache hits me, but am so tired I barely hear Kurt say to me._ **

**_“I love you Dave.”_ **

  


00000

  
 _Waking up has never felt so good, it may have only been a dream, but it still gives me hope for the future._

 _Looking over at the alarm just as it goes off I…_

  


00000

  
Waking up slowly, my alarm going off in my ear, I smell the distinct odour of come and the slimy feeling of damp sheets. It takes a moment before I realise I have two fingers in my mouth, soaking wet and shrivelled and three fingers in my ass, and I realise… it was all a dream.

Nothing but a dream, my apology to Kurt, our friendliness… the sex.

Nothing but a dream.

Getting up out of the hospital bed and shuffling over to the bathroom, I wash my hands before looking up into the mirror before I realise I am crying once again.


End file.
